


Reflection

by maleficaAnima (orphan_account)



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Heavy Angst, M/M, One Shot, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2016-05-21
Packaged: 2018-06-09 18:59:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6919240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/maleficaAnima
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are times when you can't sleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reflection

Sometimes Sans couldn’t help thinking about it all.  
Looking over his hopeless life, lying in bed at three in the morning, unable to sleep… covered by faint moonlight.

Nothing felt real anymore… nothing but the desperate grip on the memories of what used to be. Hope; belonging; love; innocence; _Home._  
Everything and everyone he lived for… stripped from his very soul. Destroyed.  
Trying not to think about it too much felt like trying to put a bandaid over a body filled with cancer-poisoned organs.

He still remembered the day he’d been dropped into the snow in the dead of night, dizzy, sick, and _cold_ to the **_core._**  
Desperate, panicking, and overflowing with grief.  
He had been all alone till morning.  
It was the first time he had wanted to die.

Even after all these years… over a decade… even **him** passing his mind felt like poking an infected, tender wound. It was the only thing that could still shake him, the only thing that could still make him cry until he felt dead and hate himself afterwards.  
It make him sick with rage; made his metaphorical stomach boil like a bubbling cauldron calling for victims to slowly scald. 

And yet, still…  
He could remember it all like it was yesterday, even after the equivalent of a thousand years, he remembered how it felt to wake up cold, dead, and hopeless for the very first time…  
To see his brother’s face looking down at him.

Sure, Papyrus had lost his memory through the strain of a trip through the entire multiverse, when he’d still only been eight years old…  
But that didn’t erase evidence of it entirely. Papyrus had holes in the middle of his palms, and always said that he “didn’t like looking at them,” because they “made him feel like he was forgetting something.”  
He could never decide if that made him feel a little better or far, far worse.

At least they were always hidden with gloves. That was better for the both of them, he guessed.

 _Sometimes he wondered what it would have been like if Papyrus **did** remember._  
On one hand, he would get somebody to share his memories with freely, somebody to rant to and for it to actually _make sense_ to them.  
And of course, for his brother to be put through nearly the same exact excruciating pain.  
God, he was selfish.

Why did he ever think he could bring **him** back? To reconstruct something obliterated?  
To drag an entire world back that didn’t even exist anymore?  
All of the desperate, stupid things he had done…  
How much he had _tried…_ and how _long…_

Ranging from praying to gods he’d never believed in, to insane, disgusting, forbidden experiments that took months of hard work in locked away in his basement...

It was all for nothing, as usual.

Wow, he was pathetic.  
It was kind of funny.

Whatever.  
He shouldn’t even be worrying about it anymore, right? It was all thousands of years ago, water under the bridge…  
Yeah, that would never be true, no matter how hard he tried to convince himself.

Underneath it all, he still felt a grossly stupid longing for it all.  
For some miracle that he’d wake up back **home**.  
That it had all been a bad dream, and he’d finally be allowed to wake up.

He felt himself starting to drift off to sleep, the more he thought about that possibility.

Sans wished himself a weak “good luck.”  
Maybe the nightmares wouldn’t be as bad, this time…

But he told himself that every night.

It was never true.

**Author's Note:**

> old angst i wrote late at night, on a bad day


End file.
